


Close Quarters

by itmightgetweird



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Marvel Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 16:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11832249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itmightgetweird/pseuds/itmightgetweird
Summary: Your day goes from bad to worse when your car breaks down after a messy mission and you end up stuck with the one team member you always fight with.





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> swearing, arguing, self-doubt. a side character tries to get rough with you (they do not succeed, but it might still be tough to read).

"I am blaming this disaster of a day fully on you," the man in your passenger seat grumbled.

 _Great_.

Not only was the mission way more complicated than it should've been, you were currently sitting helpless as your car slowed to a stop in the middle of nowhere. You thought you'd repaired the gas gauge but apparently it was only a temporary fix. So you just sat in the driver seat with a hurt expression as your car completely betrayed you by not telling you it was low on gasoline, leaving you stuck on some mostly deserted back road with the one team member you didn't get along with.

"That's not fair," you said, glancing over as Bucky crossed his arms and slouched down in the seat.

"Life's not fair, buttercup."

You hated that he did that--called you names that would've been cute under different circumstances. Frustration bubbled up as you looked to your passenger seat. "Well maybe if you hadn't been constantly griping over there, I might've noticed it had been a while since we last stopped."

"Whatever. It was stupid to take a car anyway."

You huffed and brought your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. "The jet would've been too obvious; we discussed this."

"Maybe I should've just tried harder to get paired with anyone else instead."

The sudden sting of tears behind your eyes was completely unwelcome, leading you to twist around to grab your bag out of the backseat, desperate to get away before your emotions got the best of you.

No one knew you'd been struggling lately with being on the team. Truth be told, you didn't really want to bug anyone with your insecurities. It wasn't the physical strain; you could manage the fighting. Your head was the problem. You were spending too much of your down time focusing on all the things you could've done better during missions. And it wasn't a quick reflection when you returned home; it was laying in bed for hours wondering why you made the decisions you did and why they were probably wrong. It didn't matter that no one else seemed to doubt you (aside from Bucky), it was still how you felt.

Maybe you requested field work too soon. Perhaps you should just go back to working in the compound. And dammit it hurt to hear your teammate shit on you, even if there was never positive interactions with that person anyway.

You cut your eyes at him as you grabbed the handle on your door. "You're an asshole, you know that?" The next second, you were climbing out and slamming the door behind you before stomping off down the road.

The disaster of a mission you'd just completed played over and over in your head as you stalked down the road. Sure you got the intel you needed but that was about the only thing that went right. You had a killer headache from getting smacked with the butt of a gun, your ankle hurt a bit from getting kicked during a fight, your burner phone and comms were fried courtesy of a short-range EMP blast, and you were leaving your car on the side of a dirt road and hoping there was a vacancy in the sketchy little motel you passed ten miles back.

Ugh. Just the thought of walking ten miles with all your gear slung over your shoulders made you want to scream.

The sound of insects and a light breeze surrounded you until you heard a car door slamming in the distance. Guessing Bucky was finally following you, you kept walking without glancing back.

He finally fell into step beside you a mile later. Neither of you said a word, which was fine with you. With as much tension as there was between you, the conversation probably would've quickly escalated to screaming anyway.

\-----

Night had fallen by the time you both made it to the decrepit looking motel. You really didn't want to stay there, but you'd seen exactly zero vehicles on the road as you made the trek from your car so there'd been no opportunity to hitch a ride.

The room was tiny and reeked of mothballs and lemon furniture polish. There was a hideous orange and brown couch that was probably 40 years old next to a small table with a chipped laminate top. Little brass lamps sat on the bedside tables and bathed the room in a dull yellow glow. Faded curtains hung in front of the window, so at least the room offered privacy if nothing else.

One bed. Wonderful...

You jumped when Bucky tossed his bag on the couch then stalked across the room and flopped onto the bed, turning onto his side and away from you.

"Turn on the air, would ya?" he called over his shoulder.

"Would it kill you to say please?" you shot back as you walked over and pressed a button on the ancient looking window unit. It made an awful rattling sound that you were almost positive meant it was about to explode, but then it clicked a couple times and cold air began blowing into the room.

Looking across, you saw there was enough room on the bed for you to lay down as well. Most likely not a conscious decision on Bucky's part. His breath caught when you sat down behind him.

You were genuinely surprised that the phone had a dial tone when you picked up the receiver. Calling the compound, you left a message with FRIDAY detailing where you were and what had happened. The AI informed you that everyone else was still on their own mission, but she'd pass the message along as soon as the comms opened again.

Bucky was quiet the whole time, and hoping that meant he would continue to keep his mouth shut, you turned the lamp off and curled onto the bed facing away from him, your knees slightly hanging off the edge.

"Um. What are you doing?"

So much for silence.

"I'm tired, Barnes, and I'm not sleeping on that couch. I don't move much, so I won't touch you or anything. Just... leave me alone, please?"

\-----

Of course you weren't able to sleep. It shouldn't have been a surprise, considering the day you had.

Bucky's breathing evened out within ten minutes of silence and darkness and you were more than a little jealous that he was able to calm the thoughts in his head enough to rest.

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, you eased off the bed and padded over to where you'd dropped your bag. You removed layers of clothing until you were just in underwear and your tank top then pulled on a pair of cotton shorts. Maybe you'd sleep if you were more comfortable.

Much to your dismay, the pajamas didn't help and you still couldn't clear your head enough to doze off. To add to the moment, the little window unit finally decided it'd had enough and powered down. Five minutes later, the room felt stuffy and miserable.

With a defeated sigh, you got out of bed again and grabbed the little bucket next to the sink. You remembered seeing an ice machine in the breezeway between the two sections of the motel. With any luck it actually worked and would at least solve one of the problems.

You grabbed the key and crept out of the room, trying to be as quiet as possible. Just because you and Bucky didn't get along didn't mean you wanted to wake him up if you could avoid it. You knew he'd struggled with sleep for a while too.

_See, I can be considerate sometimes._

The little bucket was almost full of ice when your body was suddenly shoved against the machine. You let out a grunt as the bucket fell to the ground, scattering the ice you'd collected. Before you had a chance to react, your arms were wrenched behind you and gathered in a strong, vice-like grip.

"What d'you say you come back to my room with me, sweetheart?" your attacker sneered in a gravely voice.

You shuddered as his breath fanned across your neck when he leaned closer. "What do you say you fuck off and you won't regret this?" you growled back, glancing at the man over your shoulder.

The man hummed. "Well, at least this'll be fun."

As soon as he started to drag you backwards, you brought both legs up to the ice machine and pushed against it with all the force you could muster. The pair of you stumbled backwards until he collided with the wall behind him with a loud thud. The air left his lungs in a harsh cough and his grip loosened just enough for you to pull your wrists away.

You'd barely taken two steps when his hand grabbed the back of your tank top and pulled. A sharp cry of pain left your lips as he kicked at your ankle, taking you to the ground. You threw your hands out and kept your face from colliding with the rough concrete, but you still felt the scrape against your palms and knees. You managed to kick back and make contact with his thigh, causing him to stumble back once more, but the lull in the fight was short as he came back at you again.

The man reached down and grabbed your arm, hoisting you onto your feet. You'd barely regained your sense of balance when you were shoved forward into the ice machine again. He was moving much faster than you expected, and that paired with your exhaustion meant you weren't fighting as well as you should've been.

You turned around, arm raised and prepared to deliver a punch, but his fist connected with your stomach first. You gasped as the breath left your lungs. A lightheaded feeling washed over your body and felt your knees give out. The next moment, the man had wrapped a hand around your neck and lifted you back into a standing position. You pushed at his chest but were too weak to put any distance between you and you were too close to move your legs up to kick at him.

His grip tightened and you gasped. Spots were creeping into your vision from the sides and you felt yourself starting to panic. Bringing your hands up, you desperately alternated between trying to loosen his grip and clawing at his wrists. You reached for his face, hoping you could jab his eye or do something to surprise him enough that he'd drop you but the restricted air flow and fatigue were working against you.

There was a flash in your mind as you cursed everything that went wrong throughout the day from the mission to your car to the ten mile walk with a pain in the ass to your lack of sleep to this asshole...

The man tightened his grip more. The spots around the edges of your vision were quickly morphing into darkness; you knew you were about to pass out.

There was a faint mechanical whir in the distance and a sudden loud crack immediately preceded your ability to breathe again.

Your legs gave out and you slumped to the ground in a fit of coughs. Your vision came back in patches, in the same way it had faded out before. Once you were able to focus, you realized Bucky was in front of you with the guy pinned against the opposite wall. He was speaking in a dangerously low voice and had his metal hand wrapped around the guy's neck.

"Let's see how you like it, huh? It's not so fuckin' pleasant, is it?"

The man was a picture of complete panic. You'd thought your attacker was a big guy--but not compared to your teammate. He was rasping out apologies the best he could manage but Bucky was having none of it.

It felt like ages passed before you were standing again. A couple deep breaths later, you approached Bucky and placed a hand on his arm. His head whipped to the side and if you hadn't been paying close attention, you wouldn't have noticed how his eyes softened just barely.

"He's not worth it, Barnes," you croaked. "You're better than that now."

Bucky's chest was heaving as he turned back to glare at the guy and his reddening face. You moved your hand down to Bucky's wrist and pulled slightly.

With one final glare, Bucky dropped the guy unceremoniously to the ground. The wheezing and coughing fit that followed sounded harsh in the quiet of the night.

It was a miracle no nosy civilians had discovered the scuffle.

Bucky had just stalked past you when the man on the ground spoke again. All you heard was "cyborg freak" when you reared back and kicked him square in the ribs and spit on the ground next to him.

This time, Bucky was the one pulling you away. The events really sunk in a few steps later and you ran off, seeking the relative comfort of the motel room. Bucky came in after you to see you curled into yourself on the couch trying to stop yourself from hyperventilating.

In a flash he was on his knees in front of you with this hands on the side of your face, asking you to focus on him as he talked you through a breathing exercise.

How had this been your day? How had everything gone to hell so thoroughly? You were right: you couldn't do this. Your doubts doubled in your mind, causing tears to roll down your cheeks and your breathing to become erratic once again.

Saying your name clearly wasn't getting your attention well enough for Bucky because a moment later he was pulling you to his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You reached around him and fisted your hands into the back of his shirt. The tears were falling freely now and it honestly just added to your frustration. You hated crying in front of other people. Less enjoyable still was crying in front of someone who couldn't stand you.

But...

"Bucky, I'm sorry," you gasped between sobs. You almost whined when he pulled away to stare at you.

The look on his face was one of pure confusion. "What- Why are you apologizing?"

"I-I screwed up everything today," you mumbled.

His eyes widened. "Don't you dare blame yourself for what happened out there. Or anything else from today."

You hung your head and pressed it against his chest, hiding your face from his view. He didn't say anything for a while after that. You just sat there, trying to control your tears and sniffling. There was a sense of peace in sitting in his arms which was completely foreign considering how the two of you usually were when together.

"Bucky?" you finally said, breaking the silence. Your head hadn't moved from against his chest and you felt the vibration of his hummed response through your hair.

"I'm not just asking this because of what just happened but... do you think I should pull out of field work?"

His answer was immediate. "Absolutely not."

"But I... I struggle. A lot. I don't feel like I make the best calls and-"

Bucky moved his hands to your shoulders and pushed away from you. He tried to lean down into your line of sight but you averted your eyes. Bucky wasn't often in your personal space and the closeness was finally making you a little nervous. There was a part of you that expected the moment to end suddenly and for the two of you to start fighting again. Finally, he brought his hands back to your face the same way he had before.

"I know my opinion probably doesn't hold much weight considerin' everything... but I think you're wrong. Steve trusts you without a shadow of a doubt and that alone should tell you you're fully capable of what you're doing. And I know I'm a dick but I... I trust you too."

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared at him, searching for any tells that he was lying.

"I do a real shit job of showing it, don't I?" he asked.

"You really do."

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "You're kind of intimidating, y'know?"

You couldn't stop the bark of laughter that escaped. There was no way...

"You might doubt your abilities, but that's not how you present yourself. You exude confidence and that's... I was jealous as hell of that. So I'm... sorry if I contributed to that doubt."

You couldn't believe the seismic shift in your relationship with Bucky. Twelve hours ago, you'd been tearing into each other over the smallest things. Now things were strange and new--but nice. Things were... nice.

\-----

You didn't sleep at all that night. Bucky had been a calming presence for the next few hours, staying awake with you and occasionally making fun of the infomercials that took over late night television. You couldn't even begin to explain how thankful you were for what he'd done--not only for prying your attacker off of you but for being your anchor after.

You were almost back to your car the next morning when you heard the distinct sound of the quinjet approaching.

"Wasn't expecting anyone so soon," you said as the back hatch lowered and Clint stepped out.

The manager at the little motel had given you one of the cans of gasoline he had stored away for his lawnmower. Bucky had thanked him; you'd just hoped it would get you to the closest gas station. Not that you were complaining about the jet at all; it would definitely be the faster way home.

"Well we'd finished our mission early. I guess it's a good thing too; I'm sure one of you would've killed the other soon, right?"

The look of sheer surprise on Clint's face when all you did was grab Bucky's bag and walk up the ramp made you chuckle. It got better when Bucky just shook his head and asked if Clint would help him push your car into the jet.

"Who the hell are you and what did you do with my friends?"


End file.
